


got any fries?

by wvlfqveen



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Non-binary character, Trans Male Character, also emetophobia..i guess, grantaire is slightly drunk in this, it's only a mention but just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4726919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wvlfqveen/pseuds/wvlfqveen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is jolted out of sleep by someone banging on his door and asking for fries.</p><p>He's going to kill Courfeyrac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	got any fries?

**Author's Note:**

> as you can tell, i fucking love writing aus
> 
> this is a hot mess au or "im drunk and it's 2 am open up i need fries" au
> 
> Enjoy!

Enjolras sat up in his bed suddenly, jolted out of his sleep. He looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table blearily; it said it was just 3 am which meant he had gotten only two hours of sleep and had two more left until he was supposed to get up. 

Combeferre was going to murder him. Or take away all caffeinated products from his house.

He honestly couldn’t tell which was going to be worse. 

He realized, as he became more aware of his surroundings that someone was banging on his door; probably the reason he was awake in the first place. He pushed himself off the bed, stumbling over his binder (wow he really had to take better care of that thing; good binders were expensive) and went out in the hallway. 

“Courf”, a deep disembodied voice coming from behind the door cried “come on man open up. I’m starving and you said you had fries. Do you know how good fries sound right now? Extremely.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at the door. They didn’t sound like anyone he knew but they knew Courfeyrac, his friend, who happened to live at the apartment right above him.

And they sounded drunk.

Ah.

He wrenched the door open as another bang sounded, making the other person stumble on the door frame and confirming his suspicions. 

They were around his age, with dark brown, curly hair peeking out of a green beanie, hazel eyes; or eye, he corrected himself as he realized that the other eye was half hazel half blue, a slightly crooked nose, and scruff that was well on its way to becoming a beard. They were wearing paint-stained jeans, and a truly hideous sweater, with stripes of nearly every colour. They looked like what Jehan called a “hot mess”. 

Enjolras scowled, partly at himself. Now is not the time, hormones, he thought. 

The stranger was looking at him, their mouth practically hanging open in astonishment and wonder. “I’m either hallucinating, or you’re not Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Last time I checked, no.”

They just blinked up at him, making Enjolras realize that they were much shorter than him. They looked at the door suddenly, and, undoubtedly noticing that it was in fact, not 1210, but 1110, they groaned and slid down the wall. 

Alarmed now, Enjolras squatted down next to them. “Hey, are you okay?” He bit his cheek. Useless question. 

They rubbed their face but didn’t answer. Enjolras hesitated before offering his hand. “Come on.”

They glanced up at his hand and then at him. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “Well you can’t just sit here. I have coffee inside. And actual chairs. No fries, though, sorry.”

They looked at him for a moment, then took his hand and hauled themself up. Their hand was bigger, darker and rougher than Enjolras’. He let go a moment too late. 

He helped them in the apartment and then on one of the chairs by the kitchen table. “I’m Enjolras”, he said, as he went about starting to make coffee, pointedly ignoring his tingling hand “I know Courf. He’s my friend.”

“I’m Grantaire”, they mumbled, leaning on the table. They looked surprisingly focused as they gazed at Enjolras. “Courf is my friend, too.”

Enjolras looked at them for a moment. “You’re the tattoo artist”, he said, a memory of Courfeyrac enthusiastically telling him about his tattoo idea and his friend that would do it for free coming back suddenly. 

Grantaire smiled wryly. “Courf's talked about me, huh?”

“A bit”, admitted Enjolras. Courf had also used different pronouns for Grantaire the next day, leading him to think that Grantaire wasn’t cis. “I don’t want to assume” started Enjolras, trying to put the question as delicately as possible “so forgive me when I ask what your pronouns are.”

Grantaire tilted their head and then snorted. “Fuck if I know, mostly, but he/him are fine today.”

Enjolras nodded and pushed a cup of coffee towards him. Grantaire accepted it gratefully. 

He sipped on his coffee and looked up through his lashes. “What about you?”

Enjolras leaned back on his chair. “He/him.”

Grantaire nodded and said nothing more, focusing on his coffee mostly, but looking at Enjolras from time to time as if making sure he was still there. Enjolras returned his gaze coolly. 

Grantaire’s phone rang then, cutting through the silence. He let his cup down and fumbled for it in his pocket. “It’s Courf”, he said, looking at the screen. 

“Give it here”, said Enjolras, reaching for it. Grantaire gave him a questioning look but handed it over anyway. 

Enjolras answered the call, putting the phone on speaker. “Hello.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment. “Enjolras?”, asked Courfeyrac, sounding timid. He knew how Enjolras got when he was tired and not caffeinated. 

“Courfeyrac”, responded Enjolras, monotonous. Grantaire looked amused now, sipping his coffee and not making a sound. 

“Enjolras.”

“Courfeyrac.”

“What have you done to Grantaire?”, questioned Courf, sounding, in Enjolras' opinion, ridiculously worried. “Did you kill my friend?”

“Why would I do that? It’s not his fault you told him to come to you in his drunk state, even though you live high up in a building where the elevator nearly never works, now, is it?”

There was silence again on the other end. “I’m coming over please don’t kill me”, he pleaded in a hurry and hung up. Enjolras handed back the phone, smirking. 

Grantaire looked at him carefully. “I know who you are now. You’re the leader of that group he always talks about.”

He ignored the leader comment (he always insisted that this was a democratic group but outsiders always called him the leader for some reason). “Les Amis de l’ABC, yes. What gave it away?’’

Grantaire snorted. “You scared the shit out of Courfeyrac and he told me that you frequently strike fear into the hearts of men. Or something like that”, he said, waving his hand around vaguely. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, amused despite himself. “I would say he’s exaggerating but,” he shrugged, his lips twitching. 

Grantaire huffed out a laugh as someone knocked on the door. Enjolras went and opened it to reveal Courfeyrac half-hiding behind Bahorel’s huge bicep. “Is it safe to enter the castle, o Fearsome Dragon?”

Enjolras pulled the both of them inside, rolling his eyes again. “Shut up”, he told his friend. 

“Grantaire what’s up man?”, greeted Bahorel, fist bumping him. 

“Are you friends with all my friends?”, asked Enjolras, curious. 

Grantaire shrugged. “Most.”

“Wait till I introduce him to Joly and Bossuet; it’s gonna be chaos”, said Courfeyrac, grinning. “You’re not that mad at me, are you? My favorite boy? My sweet, darling son?”, he asked sweeping Enjolras into what was supposed to be a hug, but felt more like a choke hold. 

He huffed, smiling. “Get off, mom.”

Courfeyrac did so, grin intact. Grantaire and Bahorel pretended to retch in unison.

Enjolras looked sideways at Grantaire. “Careful or you’ll do that for real.”

He snorted. “You underestimate my stomach. I’m a veteran.”

“Well”, started Courfeyrac, rubbing his hands “I’d love to stay and chat with my sleep-deprived buddy but I have fries to provide to the People”, he said, picking up Grantaire with a flourish. Enjolras opened the door so they could all pass unhindered. He accepted Bahorel’s fist bump as he went by, helping Courfeyrac. 

Courfeyrac turned to him at the door. “Get some sleep or Ferre will be on your ass.”

“Yes mom”, he said, both of them knowing full well that Ferre’s wrath was inescapable. He would take one look at Enjolras and would immediately know he hadn’t slept the recommended amount. No amount of concealer or coffee would save him.

Grantaire was staring at him. He looked very small, half supported by Courfeyrac’s shoulder and half carried by Bahorel. “Thanks for, like”, he waved towards his apartment “everything. And you know, not killing me.”

“I told you Courfeyrac exaggerates”, he said, smiling a bit and ignoring Courfeyrac's indignant noise.

Grantaire gave him a small smile, softer than his wry ones and his smirks. Enjolras heart gave a weird lurch.

Uh oh. 

“Well thanks anyway. I’ll see you around”, promised Grantaire. The others waved at him as they went through the door of the staircase. He waved back until they were out of sight and then slid down his door.

“I’m screwed”, he said to the empty hallway. 

The empty hallway thankfully did not answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews and comments are welcome and appreciated as this is the first time I write fic for les mis :)


End file.
